


Drowning in Dreams (You're My Raft)

by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Christopher Stole It, Buck is an Oblivious Idiot, Diverges Post-Tsunami, Eddie Thinks He Doesn't Have to Use Words, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Soft Eddie Diaz, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, The Title is Cheesy But So Are They, They Both Share Half a Braincell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23903878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/pseuds/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
Summary: In which Buck sleeps his way into a relationship with Eddie, but not in the way you'd think.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 173
Kudos: 2162





	Drowning in Dreams (You're My Raft)

The first time he wakes up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding, the splashing of water in his ears, he tries to write it off.

It’s not the first time Buck’s had a nightmare after some bad event or other. He had a lot, after the ladder pinned him. He rolls over and tries to go to sleep.

_Christopher! Christopher!_

But it happens again. And again. And again.

 _Christopher!_

_Have you seen—have you seen a kid, he was wearing a yellow shirt, glasses, eight years old—_

_Christopher!_

That horrible splash that came from behind him and he just knew, without even looking, what it meant—he’d only turned away for a second—

The tenth time it happens, Buck has to accept that maybe this isn’t gonna go away that easily.

He hits the _call_ button before he realizes what he’s doing.

“Buck?” Eddie’s voice is rough and warm on the other end of the line, and it makes Buck’s stomach go tight. “Everything okay?”

“Can you check on Christopher for me?” he blurts out.

There’s a pause.

“It’s just… y’know when I… I just need to confirm—I know he’s okay, but…”

“Hey, yeah, no, hold on.” He hears the creaking of the bed as Eddie gets up. Does Eddie sleep with pajamas on? Or just in boxers?

There’s silence for a moment, and then Eddie whispers, “He’s all safe and sound. Out like a light, breathing normal.”

“Thanks.” It doesn’t make the tightness in his chest go away completely, but it helps.

“Come over tomorrow,” Eddie says. “For dinner. We can hangout.”

He’s over there so much already, he hates to make a burden of himself, sticking his nose in where he’s not wanted. “You really don’t—”

“Buck. Come over.” Eddie hangs up the phone before Buck can argue.

Not that he ever could argue. Not when Eddie uses that tone.

* * *

Christopher is hale and hardy, of course he is, and Buck scoops him up to hug him. “How’s my best man, huh?”

“Great!” Christopher hugs him back tightly. “Daddy, my Buck is here!”

 _My Buck._ He’s never gonna stop feeling like he’s gonna cry when he hears Christopher say that.

“Well, so he is.” Eddie grins as he walks up and hugs Buck, regardless of the kid now sandwiched between them. “You can help me decide which takeout place to order.”

“Did you burn water again?” Buck teases, setting Christopher down.

Eddie points at him. “On thin ice, you are on thin. Ice.”

The tightness in Buck’s chest loosens.

The night goes well, like it always does, and fuck, it just does him good to see Christopher, to spend time with him and know that he’s okay.

But bedtime does come around eventually, and that means Buck has to go. And he… really just doesn’t want to.

He cleans up the dishes while Eddie puts Christopher to bed, but he’s only delaying the inevitable. He has to go home to an empty house, and try to get some sleep, knowing he’s going to dream and wake up and—

“You’ve been having nightmares?”

Sometimes Eddie’s so to the point that Buck wishes he could hate the guy instead of feeling… ah, whatever it is he feels about him. He really tries not to examine the swoop he gets in his stomach when he’s around his best friend, because then he’ll _lose_ his best friend, and that’s the last thing he wants.

Buck carefully sets aside the plates instead of dropping them and turns to face Eddie. “Ah. Yeah. About… the tsunami.”

Eddie waits, patient.

Buck shrugs. “I know it’s not real. That he’s fine. But in my dreams I’m searching for him and there’s all that water and I can’t find him and… fuck, it’s a lot, you know? I—I love that kid, Eddie. I know I’m not his parent but I love him so much. He’s family to me, I—”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie takes him by the shoulders. “I know, Buck. I know. I get nightmares too. Why don’t you stay over. You can check on him when it happens.”

“…you sure?” He doesn’t want to impose.

“‘Course.”

Buck glances over at the couch. It’s not going to be the best sleep he’s ever had, but he’ll manage—

Eddie steps back. “And I got a king size so my bed’s big enough.”

Wait—what? The fuck? “Eddie?”

“Don’t try and give me any bullshit about the couch, Buck.” Eddie gives him one of those rueful _you’re such an idiot_ smiles that Buck would cross a fucking ocean for. “We can share a bed like two adults.”

Okay, then.

* * *

Sharing a bed with Eddie is… uh. Interesting.

It’s nice, really, is what it is, once he gets past the first moments of _oh shit I’m sharing a bed with my best friend and I definitely feel Things when he takes off his shirt_ , that is.

Turns out, Eddie wears sweats and a t-shirt to bed.

For the record.

But once they get settled, Eddie on the left side by the door and Buck by the window, it’s… relaxed. More or less. Buck’s not used to sharing a bed with someone again, not after so long, but it’s Eddie, it’s the person he feels most comfortable with in the world.

The inches between them feel like an ocean, and yet in no time at all, Buck finds himself asleep.

And in the water.

_He’s drowning, he can’t—Christopher!—he can’t breathe, water—Christopher, Christopher!_

Blankets are yanked away from him, easing the feeling of being underwater, of being trapped, and a hand plants itself on his chest, warm and grounding. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

Buck grabs blindly, his hands finding Eddie’s forearm, his shoulder. “Shit.”

“You’re all good.” Eddie’s voice is warm. “You’re safe. Christopher’s safe.”

It takes a minute to get his breathing back in order. “Can I…”

“Yeah.”

He tiptoes to Christopher’s room, peeking in. Sure enough, the kid’s sound asleep, peaceful. Buck’s heart aches just looking at him.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, watching, but at some point someone lays a hand on his shoulder and he jolts.

“’s okay.” Eddie squeezes his shoulder and then takes his wrist. “C’mon. Bed.”

He sleeps fine for the rest of the night.

* * *

Buck doesn’t mean for it to become a habit, but somehow, here he is, spending a few nights a week over at Eddie’s. And it helps, it really does. The nightmares become fewer. He starts to really believe in his subconscious that Christopher’s okay.

He keeps waiting for Eddie to bring it up. _Hey, you’ve been sleeping through the night, maybe you should stay at your home now._ But he never does. He just welcomes Buck, no matter what.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a problem if Buck wasn’t realizing how deeply, irrevocably, stupidly in love with Eddie he is.

And maybe it wouldn’t be a problem if they weren’t sharing a fuckin’ bed every night.

They always start out on opposite sides, but Buck is, as Abby once put it, “an octopus puppy,” and Eddie runs cold and will steal whatever warmth is available including his six-foot-two bedmate, so they inevitably wake up to the alarm as a tangle of limbs. Buck’s sure that Eddie can hear his heart pounding every time he wakes up and finds that Eddie’s face is mashed into his shoulder, one of Eddie’s legs wedged between his, their arms thrown over each other.

If Eddie feels awkward about it, he never says. Buck just feigns sleep while Eddie extricates himself, and he keeps his eyes nice and shut and his breathing even until Eddie leaves the room, and only then does he get up. It seems to be working out so far.

He’s still waiting, though, for the inevitable end. For Eddie to decide Buck’s fine enough on his own. For Eddie to decide this is too awkward. For Eddie to retreat, because this is Eddie’s life and Eddie’s family and Buck’s not a part of that.

And then Eddie gets a nightmare.

Buck’s asleep, in the middle of a vague dream about bunnies and Maddie and a circus, when he feels shifting and—thrashing? No—moaning, and then he’s awake, and Eddie’s tossing on the bed, a sound like a wounded animal coming out of his mouth.

Buck’s not sure if he should touch him. “Eddie. Eddie, hey. Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Eddie’s face pinches as he registers the voice. His eyes open, dark and hollow.

Buck tries for a smile. He hopes it doesn’t look as flat as it feels. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re here.”

Eddie stares at him for a long moment, long enough for Buck to feel sick inside, knowing he’s not what Eddie wants, or probably who Eddie wants—and Eddie croaks, “Buck?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. Christopher’s down the hall, he’s safe. We’re all safe.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, swallows, then nods.

“Can I get you anything? Water?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No, just. Um. This is stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Whatever it is, Buck will do it. He’ll turn cartwheels, he’ll go find a 24-hour convenience store to get whatever shitty snack Eddie’s craving.

But instead of either of those things, Eddie turns Buck around and presses his face into the back of Buck’s neck, his arms around him. “Helps to hold something.”

Buck gets that. His heart is running a fucking 50 meter dash in his chest, but he’s not complaining. Far from it. “Okay. Whatever you need.”

They’re still like that when the alarm goes off in the morning.

* * *

It’s been about two weeks when Christopher asks, over pancakes, “Buck? Why are you sleeping over so much?”

Buck’s heart just about plummets into his chest. Of course Christopher likes him but that doesn’t mean Christopher wants him to be here all the time—he’s invading, he’s—

Buck takes a deep breath. Honesty. He owes it to Christopher to be honest.

“I, uh, you know how you have nightmares, about the tsunami?”

Christopher nods. Eddie’s been torn to hell about it, wanting to fix this for his son and not being able to.

“Well, I get nightmares too.”

Christopher’s eyes light up. “Grown ups get nightmares?”

“Of course we do, buddy, everyone gets scared sometimes.” Buck turns the heat off on the stove and turns to face Christopher completely. “I got really scared that I lost you. And so sometimes I… I have nightmares about it. So your dad was really nice and said I could sleep over, so when I wake up, I check and see that you’re fine.” He pauses. “Is that okay?”

Christopher nods. “What do you do… if the person you dream about isn’t fine? And you did lose them?”

Ah, shit. Buck crouches so he’s on Christopher’s level. “It hurts a lot, when someone leaves and they don’t come back. I get that. It’s like… um…”

He pulls up his sleeve and shows off one of his burn scars. “See this? It hurt a lot when I first got it. Drove me crazy. But now—go ahead, touch it.”

Christopher pokes the scar and Buck grins. “Doesn’t hurt at all. It’s still there. It’ll always be there. But it doesn’t hurt. You get what I’m saying?”

Christopher smiles, and nods. Buck ruffles his hair. “You’re a good kid, y’know that? And it’s okay to be sad, you know that too?”

Christopher nods. “Buck?”

“Yeah?” He gets up again to check on the pancakes.

“I like when you sleep over.”

Buck focuses on the pancakes so that his face doesn’t give him away. “Yeah, me too, buddy.”

* * *

Of course, two grown men in the prime of their life, there’s going to be some… moments.

Buck’s in the middle of a great dream. He’s not quite sure where he is, other than the fact that he’s lying on grass and it seems to be sunny. The best part, though, is Eddie. Eddie on top of him, grinning, his hands in Eddie’s hair, Eddie kissing him, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie—

He jolts awake, wrapped around Eddie from behind, and he is most definitely, one hundred percent, hard and pressed up against Eddie’s ass.

_Shit._

Buck flails, falls back, manages to avoid banging his head on the wall by the window, and puts a good couple feet of distance between himself and his—still sleeping, thank fuck—bedmate.

Jesus Christ.

He thinks about dead kittens and puppies for a few minutes until things start to cool down, and he’s just wondering if he should sneak off to the bathroom, when Eddie rolls over, pawing at the space in between them. He’s got that pucker between his eyebrows that means he’s drifting, somewhere between asleep and awake.

“Y’okay?” Eddie murmurs.

Of course he’s worried about Buck’s mental health while Buck was just humping him like a pervert. Fuck. What is his life? He doesn’t deserve Eddie.

Buck carefully scoots back in. “I’m okay, Eddie, yeah.”

Eddie hums, then rolls over, flopping on top of him. “Good.”

Eddie apparently falls right back asleep, but Buck stays awake for a long, long time.

* * *

He’s been staying over regularly for a couple of months when Eddie nearly dies.

Buck doesn’t go home that night. Hell, he almost doesn’t go anywhere at all, almost stays in the hospital watching over Eddie, but Carla can’t stay with Christopher all night and someone should be there.

“Where’s Dad?” the kid asks the moment Buck steps inside.

He forces a smile. “Ah, your dad just took a little fall, so he’s at the hospital getting patched up. They gotta make sure he didn’t hit his head and go crazier than he already is.”

Christopher giggles, and then laughs harder when Buck picks him up and tickles him.

“Is he all right?” Carla asks, once he’s read Christopher a bedtime story and tucked him in.

“He will be. He’s a stubborn son of a bitch, swam through something like forty feet of underground water tonight.” Buck shakes his head. “Nobody else could’ve survived that.”

Carla hums. “Are you all right?”

Buck’s sure she doesn’t know how he feels. He’s been careful, so careful, not to tell anyone. Not even Maddie or Bobby. But he has to fight down a blush all the same. “Yeah. I’m—shaky but okay.”

“Okay.”

Carla leaves, and he checks on Chris, and he goes to bed. His clothes migrated over to Eddie’s at some point. He has a drawer, and part of the closet, and his own toothbrush. It feels invasive, still, but at the same time, he feels hollow inside.

The bed, when he climbs into it, feels huge and empty.

* * *

Eddie’s home the next day, claiming he’s right as rain, and the doctors agree, but Buck can’t fucking sleep.

He just… stares at Eddie for what feels like hours. Watches him breathe. Listens to him snore like a fucking chainsaw.

_I could’ve lost you. I love you and I almost lost you._

He can’t stop thinking about it.

Forget nightmares, now he’s moved onto insomnia, just wanting to watch, terrified that Eddie will somehow be gone when he wakes up. Twice now he’s turned his back for one fucking second and someone he loves has disappeared on him, his heart’s gonna go out if he has to go through that again.

“Y’know it’s creepy to watch people sleep,” Eddie murmurs, barely awake.

Buck chokes on his own spit. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Serial killers do that.” Eddie yawns, stretches, and turns over on his side to face him. “‘M not going anywhere.”

“You almost did, though.” Buck swallows. “You cut your fucking line, Eddie.”

Eddie’s eyes open, and he looks more awake now.

“I watched the ground fall on top of you.” Buck’s scared, scared that he’s letting too much show in his voice, in his face, in this dark sacred space between them that they never talk about despite basically cuddling together every night, but he can’t make himself stop. “Christ, Eddie, the others thought you were dead. I was trying to dig you out with my bare hands. They had to talk me down and come up with another plan so I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t—”

“I’m okay now,” Eddie says, as if that solves everything.

“But you _weren’t,_ ” Buck insists. His throat is closing up. “You weren’t, Eddie, fuck—”

Eddie kisses him.

Everything Buck was going to say freezes in his mouth as Eddie continues to kiss him, soft but certain, and his brain feels like it’s short-circuited. This can’t be real. This can’t actually be happening. Can it?

“I wasn’t,” Eddie acknowledges, pulling away, but only far enough that they can both get breath in. “But I am now.”

Buck stares at him. Is this what being in shock feels like? He’s cold and hot all over at the same time and he can’t seem to move. Words? What are words?

Eddie reaches up, cups Buck’s cheek, stares at him all warm and soft like he did when he told Buck there was nobody in the world he trusted with his son more than him.

“You don’t have to do this for me,” he blurts out in a whisper. Eddie doesn’t have to—to kiss him just because it’s what Buck wants. He gets that Eddie probably feels it’s the best way to reassure him, comfort him, but Buck doesn’t want it out of pity.

Eddie stares at him, confusion darkening his eyes. “You think I’m doing this just for you?”

Buck’s starting to get the suspicion that’s the wrong answer, but he nods anyway.

“I let you help parent my kid,” Eddie points out. His hand is still on Buck’s cheek, his thumb swiping slowly back and forth. “You help Chris with his homework, you make him breakfast and pack his lunches. You think I let just anyone do that? You think I let just anyone keep clothes and shit at my place?”

“I’m your best friend.”

“Yeah.” Eddie shakes his head. “You’re also a lot more than that, you idiot.”

Buck would say something else, he’s not sure what but _something,_ only it’s hard to talk when someone else’s tongue is in your mouth.

Eddie’s a really, really good kisser.

Somehow, Buck ends up on his back, Eddie on top of him, their hands above their heads, fingers tangled together. Eddie’s weight is so fucking good, so _reassuring,_ against his chest and between his legs. He feels grounded, held, covered. He’s clinging to Eddie’s hands with everything he’s got and Eddie’s squeezing right back, as if to say _you don’t have to let go, I’ll never let go._

“Why’d you think I kept having you stay over?” Eddie asks, his mouth still so close that his lips brush against Buck’s. “You stopped having nightmares.”

“I dunno.”

“Well now you do.”

Part of him wants to kiss Eddie over and over, to kiss him until their lips are sore, until they’re rutting up against each other, but he’s also just so damn tired. He dares to push up and kiss Eddie, soft and lazy, and Eddie smiles into it, the pads of his fingers stroking Buck’s knuckles.

Eddie pulls back, resting his head on Buck’s shoulder, and Buck stares at the ceiling, begging himself not to fuck this up.

* * *

“It’s his mom,” Eddie says.

Buck’s just walked in the door, gym bag with more clothes in his hand, and it drops with a heavy thud. “The woman he’s dreaming about?”

Eddie nods.

“Fuck.” He’s across the room before he knows it, pulling Eddie in, and Eddie looks like he might resist for a moment—but then he goes, and they’re wrapping their arms around each other, holding on tight.

“I should’ve known, it was so obvious…”

“Hey, you’re not a mind reader.”

“I lied.” Eddie sounds like he’s beating himself with a belt. “I told him that I missed her, that I was always going to love her and be sad about her. But I’m—fuck, I’m not. I’m _angry._ I’m angry that she was going to leave again, I’m angry at—at myself, how it all—went down, but.”

“He’s eight, Eddie. Saying what’ll help him is more important than saying what’s true.”

Eddie tightens his hold. “What the fuck would I do without you?”

His voice is so quiet that Buck doesn’t think Eddie meant to say that out loud. He doesn’t respond, just strokes his hand up and down Eddie’s back. He still doesn’t know how to say all he’s feeling—the last time he tried to tell someone he loved them the words crammed up in his throat and then that person went and left him for Ireland—but he can hold Eddie. He’s real good at that. So he holds him, instead, and says nothing.

* * *

It takes them another two weeks to have sex, and that is _not_ Buck’s fault. It’s called late-night shifts and having a kid. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the first time Eddie gets a hand on his dick Buck comes like a bottle rocket.

“It’s not that funny,” Buck grumbles as Eddie just about dies laughing, nearly falling off the bed as he clutches at his chest.

“It’s hilarious is what it is,” Eddie snorts, getting his balance and his breath back. “Don’t worry, baby, we can still cuddle.”

“I fucking hate you.”

The next few times they try, it’s not that Buck’s got a hair-trigger, it’s more that this is new and Buck’s never been with a guy before and the last time Eddie was with one he was in high school and definitely didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.

Not that Buck’s complaining. He will live in handjob city for the rest of his life if that’s what Eddie wants. And there’s really nothing better in the world than when Eddie’s on top of him, grinding slow and dirty between his legs, pinning Buck’s wrists to the bed. Yeah, holy shit, there’s nothing sexier than that.

One night, though—he’s dreaming again, he’s not really sure what about—and he wakes up to feel something very hard and insistent poking him in the thigh.

Buck smothers his grin against his pillow. “Eddie.”

Eddie’s nuzzling at Buck’s neck, his leg wrapped firmly around Buck’s, and he’s definitely about 0.2 seconds away from grinding against him.

Buck shakes him a little, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. “Eddie. Wake up.”

Eddie’s eyes blink open, and Buck sees the second he registers what’s happening. “Fuck.”

“I mean. If you want.”

Eddie glances towards the door, as if he expects Christopher to burst in. “I had a… plan. Chris has that hangout this weekend, I figured we’d… do something nice. It was going to be a whole thing.”

“Eddie Diaz, a secret romantic, who would’ve thought?” Buck rolls them over, straddling him, drawing his nose up Eddie’s throat. “Don’t worry, I don’t need roses or champagne.”

“You’re a little shit, anyone ever tell you that?” Eddie counters, but he’s skimming his hands up Buck’s thighs and grabbing his ass, and that’s not a no.

Buck kisses him properly, grinning when Eddie seizes his bottom lip between his teeth and tugs. “Get the lube.”

Oh shit oh fuck oh _hell_ yes. Buck lunges for the bedside table and nearly bangs his elbow in the process, tossing the bottle to Eddie.

Eddie pokes and prods him until Buck scoots back and Eddie can work his pajama pants down, slicking up his fingers.

“Uh…” Buck’s brain short-circuits a little as Eddie starts to work himself open. That’s—that’s the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen.

“What?” Eddie’s grin is wicked. “You thought it was gonna be you? With your impatience?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Buck just blurts out. He feels like his eyes are popping out of his head.

“Shhh,” Eddie warns him, but he’s still grinning. “C’mere.”

He takes Buck’s hand and guides it down, and the thing is, well—it’s a little different, sure, but it’s got the same principle as with a woman, right? And Buck knows how to handle women.

He slides a finger in next to Eddie’s, curling it, and watches Eddie’s face carefully as he follows his lead, stroking, figuring out what makes Eddie’s eyelids flutter, makes his breath jerk in his chest.

“Yeah,” Eddie encourages, sliding his own fingers out as Buck slides a second finger in. “Like that.”

Buck wants, more than anything, to make this feel good, and he follows Eddie’s nudges and whispered instructions carefully, scissoring his fingers, pressing up and up until he strokes against a spot that makes Eddie’s legs jerk and his mouth drop open.

“That good?” he asks, feeling kind of breathless himself.

“Trust me, next time, I’mma show you how good it can be,” Eddie promises, his voice thick and dark. Buck shivers all over. He can’t wait to be taken apart by Eddie.

He keeps stroking that spot, watching Eddie push back into his touch, a flush steadily creeping up Eddie’s chest.

“Okay,” Eddie instructs, gently tugging on Buck’s wrist to pull his hand back. “C’mere.”

Buck goes easily—how could he not—stroking his cock, shivering as Eddie spreads his legs. _Fuck._ Part of him can’t believe this is really happening, thinks he’s going to wake up with Eddie on the other side of the bed, that this will all be some hopeful dream.

Eddie’s smirk is the only warning he gets before he’s flipped onto his back.

“Your surprised face is fucking priceless,” Eddie informs him, and then he’s sinking down onto Buck’s cock and Buck has to quickly grab a pillow to bury his swearing into so he doesn’t wake up the kid sleeping down the hall.

“Jesus Christ, if you’re this loud when you’re the top we are definitely getting Christopher out of the house when we swap,” Eddie mutters.

Buck doesn’t even have a good response to that, he just moans. Thankfully the pillow muffles it.

Eddie bottoms out and Buck chokes. Jesus Christ. He scrambles to move the pillow out of the way and grabs Eddie’s hips, steadying them both. It’s dark in the room, only the moonlight shining through the curtains illuminating anything, but even with just that, Eddie’s the hottest thing Buck’s ever seen. He looks powerful like this, his stomach flexing, broad-shouldered, a knowing smirk on his face. Buck might be the one inside Eddie but there’s no doubt about who’s in control here and Buck knows it ain’t him.

Eddie rolls his hips, and after a moment of sheer, blinding pleasure that has Buck forgetting how to breathe, he starts to get into it. Abby liked to be on top, most of the time. Buck knows how to be the horse in this rodeo. Eddie has to slap a hand over Buck’s mouth to keep him quiet, but he’s laughing silently while he does it, the both of them rocking into each other, making the bed creak.

God, he’s so fucking hot like this, and Buck is terrified, absolutely terrified of losing this, so he clings and thrusts hard and pays attention to every single expression on Eddie’s face, every twitch of his body, so that he can fuck him properly—fuck him so good that Eddie never even thinks that he can get something better from someone else.

Maybe something of what he’s thinking, the insecurity he can’t quite erase, shows on his face, because Eddie slumps forward, goes down onto his elbows, and kisses him. His hips continue to piston, burying Buck’s cock over and over again into the tight heat of him, but his kiss is deep and soft. Buck slides his fingers into Eddie’s cropped-short hair, briefly wishing Eddie’s hair was longer again, that he’d gotten to do this before Eddie cut it all. It feels almost like a dream, now, nothing real except for the weight of Eddie, the feeling of Eddie’s mouth against his. He’d fear it was a dream again except that he could never imagine the way Eddie kisses, the thorough determination of it, the slick, forceful glide of his tongue.

He plants his feet, shifting his angle slightly, and that must do it because Eddie jerks, biting Buck’s tongue. Buck laughs and does that again, and again, chasing the high of knowing he’s making Eddie feel good.

“Fast learner,” Eddie teases, his voice dripping with sex, and Buck whines in the back of his throat, high and reedy. He’s _so_ close, he just wants Eddie to come, too.

Eddie chuckles. “So fuckin’ sweet,” he says, like Buck’s a piece of candy he can’t get enough of, and then he sinks down all the way and fucking _clenches,_ and Buck’s coming before he even realized that was a possibility.

Eddie pushes himself up, stroking his cock fast and rough, and he comes seconds later all over Buck’s stomach. Buck feels… marked, which is actually pretty hot. Or it will be until it dries and becomes annoying.

Eddie slumps onto him and Buck wraps his arms around him immediately, kissing all over his neck. _I love you._ He doesn’t say it. How could he possibly? Eddie’s given over enough of himself already. But he does. He does. He _does._

* * *

Buck’s woken up by whispers.

“Dad. Daddy.”

He keeps his eyes closed as he takes stock. He’s sprawled out on his stomach, face buried in the pillow, one arm over Eddie. Eddie, who’s rolling over and responding to Christopher’s insistence.

“Hey, buddy, you’re awake already.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You want breakfast?”

“Yeah. Can Buck make pancakes?”

“Mmm, you’ll have to ask Buck.”

A small hand pokes his shoulder. “Buck.”

He opens his eyes. “Good morning.”

Christopher’s smile makes Buck light up inside. “Good morning. Can you make pancakes?”

“Can’t have pancakes for breakfast every morning, y’know. But if your dad says it’s okay…”

Christopher looks hopefully at Eddie, who smiles and rolls his eyes. “All right.”

“Yes!” Christopher flops over on top of Buck’s legs, grinning. Buck ruffles his hair.

“I’m hitting up the bathroom, try not to burn the kitchen down.” Eddie kisses Chris on the top of his head and then gets up.

Buck watches him go, heart in his throat. They had sex last night. Does this change anything? Sure, they were already being pretty sexual, but…

“Are you gonna stay over every night now?” Christopher asks.

“Maybe. But you won’t get pancakes every morning.”

“That’s okay.” God, this kid’s an angel.

“Go get dressed and I’ll start on the pancakes, okay?”

“Okay.”

Eddie finds him in the kitchen, quietly having a panic attack over the griddle. “You all good?”

“We need to tell Christopher,” he blurts out.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “I think he knows, Buck.”

“He knows I’m—I’m sleeping over, but I don’t think—” Unless. “But if you don’t want him to know, that’s okay too, we don’t have to tell him, it’s totally your call, I’m sorry—”

“Buck.” Eddie presses him back against the counter, hands on his hips. “Hey. As cute as I find the panicking, it’s not necessary. I agree, we should tell him, but I don’t think there’s going to be much to tell that he hasn’t already figured out. He’s a kid, they see things pretty simple. You’ve got your clothes here, you sleep over, we share a bed… isn’t that all that kids think couples do at that age?”

Maybe, sure, but… knowing his dad might be with someone else and seeing it, those are two very different things. What if Christopher isn’t ready? What if he considers it an insult to Shannon? What if…?

“I can hear you thinking,” Eddie murmurs, and then he kisses him.

Buck wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist instinctively, kissing him back. God, how could he not? It’s Eddie.

“The pancakes are gonna burn,” Christopher says.

Buck swears this is what a stroke feels like.

Eddie pulls back, grinning down at his son. “Or, y’know. That could happen.”

Buck quickly moves to flip the pancakes before they, indeed, burn. “Uh, hey, Chris, um…”

“Can I have bananas on mine?” Christopher asks.

Jesus, the kid is completely unfazed. Buck looks over at Eddie. Eddie just looks… pleased. Happy.

“Sure thing,” Buck promises.

Christopher maneuvers his way up onto a chair. “Are you still having nightmares, Buck?”

Buck glances over at Eddie, who’s got his arms folded and is grinning knowingly.

“Nah,” he tells Christopher. “I’m all good.”

Christopher’s smile is as warm as his father’s.


End file.
